To the arms of the ocean, deliver me
by finnick-ohdair
Summary: 'I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will not be reaped today." The story of a fourteen year old Finnick, thrust into the brutality of the 65th Annual Hunger Games, becoming a victor, wearing the broken crown, keeping his family safe and falling in love. Finnick Odair, the boy with the trident, the boy with the secrets.
1. Reflections still look the same to me

**Chapter 1**

_I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4. I am fourteen years old. And I will __**not**__ be reaped today. _

I figured if I keep repeating that enough then it will be true. I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4. I am fourteen years old. And I will _not_ be reaped today.

I let out a loud groan as I rolled over as slowly opened my sleepy eyes towards the blinding sunlight that filtered through the paper-thin white curtains that covered my bedroom window. I hated Reaping day- for the obvious reasons- but also because being District Four meant that I have to wake up early- and anyone who knows me knows that I love (no, _need_) my sleep. I am Finnick Odair and I am completely and utterly gorgeous. Sleep is essential to keeping my looking perfect. The early morning sunlight of 4:30AM, slowly streamed inside, casting golden light over my usually bleak bedroom and illuminating the speckles of dust suspended in the morning air. I watched, mesmerised with these flecks of dust as they floated along, usually invisible but strangely beautiful in the soft light. And that's when I realised that I definitely needed to sleep more. I believe that waking up too early does terrible things to your mind- and admiring spots of dust was definitely one of those terrible things.

I, eventually, managed to drag myself out of bed. Okay, so I didn't have to wake up as early as this but I always did; true enough, we had to get up early for the Reaping but in combination with getting my hair to its usual magnificent standards (it's my pride and joy, and is probably the best thing about me according to the District 4 girls. Well, that and my smile, brilliant personality and something else… if I do say so myself) and my usual tradition of seeing the ocean for, "one last time", I had to wake up this early- which my body always tried to fight and almost always won.

By the time my hair has co-operated and I've laid out my clothes for the Reaping later on and I've gotten to the beach, its 5AM. I'm sat in a secluded part of the beach, one that my Father showed me years ago; it's much more peaceful than the main part of the beach were many people seem to congregate on the morning of the Reaping. I can't stay here for long, a half hour at the most, but even though it maybe cliché for someone from District 4 to say, just being close to the water makes me feel safer and more hopeful. The salt water is calming as it rushes over my legs, my feet, and my hands. The water is never changing yet somehow always constantly there, being able to bring my back home, to be able to soothe my thoughts and make me think clearer, and to relax the nerves and fear that racks my entire body. _I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4. I am fourteen years old. And I will __**not **__be reaped today. _

But what if I am?

Yes, District Four is, technically, a Career district, we're trained in weaponry; trained how to use knives, spears and even tridents, if we are lucky enough. Also, we're taught our trade from birth, how to make fish hooks, nets, how to hunt, giving us a greater chance of survival during the games. We're trained to fight and survive, not to kill. And of course, District Four is one of the richer districts- there's no poverty, yes, but there is severe oppression, strictly enforced rules, brutal Peacekeepers, run down disgusting shacks, even death just like any other district. It's only beautiful because of the sea. But you don't know that unless you're from Four. Other poorer districts presume that we're like One and Two, that we're the Capitols' lapdogs. We aren't. However, we're still considered Careers. We are supposed to regard being reaped as the upmost honour. _I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4._ We're supposed to _want_ this, like the crazy career tributes of One and Two; we're supposed to want to bring pride and joy to our families by battling to the death or bathing in the blood and glory from the death of our fellow tributes. _I am fourteen years old. _But none of us want to get picked. _And I will __**not **__be reaped today. _I don't want to be picked. _And I will __**not **__be reaped today._ But if I am I'm sure somebody will volunteer; some glory hunting 18 year old would be dying to take the place of a skinny, hopeless fourteen year old with no chance of winning at all. After all, it is their last chance to bring honour to themselves, their families, and District 4.

I've been trained to fight. But I'm not ready to be chosen, I don't want to be chosen, I don't want to die_. And I will __**not**__ be reaped today._ I will not be chosen.

"I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4. I am fourteen years old. And I will _not_ be reaped today." I say aloud, straight towards the ocean, my voice carrying across the waves. I say it like I'm praying to someone, or something that can save me. "I will not be reaped today. I will not be reaped today." My eyes close tightly as I say my prayer, with the ocean appealing to my senses: the sound of waves crashing on the distant rocks, the sound of waves crashing on the shore, the cold breeze brushing across my skin, the salty smell of the ocean filling my nostrils. I open my eyes. "Yes Odair, keep telling yourself that," I say to myself, my voice thick with sarcasm- the ultimate defence, "It's definitely going to save you."

I push myself up from the sand, feeling the grainy gritty texture on my hands for what may be the last time_. And I will __**not **__be reaped today._ I let the ocean wash over my feet for what may be the last time. "It's not the last time. Finnick, it will not be the last time. Pull yourself together." I take one last look at the ocean, at home, then I head back to my house to get ready for the Reaping. _And I will __**not **__be reaped today. _

There's water in the bathtub, waiting for me when I get home. As I bathe, I slowly scrub away the salt from the ocean that has crusted on my legs and feet and then I wash my face. I wish that I could stay in there for a while longer but the water has grown colder and I need to get ready and, only now, do I realise the way that my stomach is growling- I need food.

Everybody in every District, no matter how poor or rich, know what a special day the Reaping is and everyone dresses in their finery for the Capitols' cameras. I slip into the sea-blue shirt that I already laid down on my bed, it matches my eyes or so everyone in my family says. I'd laid out a brand new grey suit as well but considering how warm it was at the beach this morning I just my better judgement to decide against wearing the suit jacket. I look in the mirror, fix my hair and smile.

The reflection that stares back at me is as gorgeous as usual, despite the_ severe_ lack of sleep. Yes, the total bluntness of that may be surprising but I'm not going to deny it, am I? I have the general tanned skin of most people from Four, as well as the most perfect honey blonde hair that shines golden like the morning sun. Most girls have fallen prey to my charming smile and almost perfect white teeth (even if I didn't want them too). I'm athletic, can steer a boat, I know how to make the best fish hooks and nets and I'm good with a spear. But my most amazing feature is my eyes- sea green, bright, enchanting, and enticing. I am Charming. Beautiful.

Well, like I said before, I'm hardly going to deny it.

"Finn," said a voice, timidly from behind the door frame. My youngest sister, Aria, is staring at me with her beautiful big round eyes full of worry. She always does this. She's 11 years old and even though she knows that next year it'll be her turn in the Reaping she uses all of her worrying on me until that time comes; she's done this for the past three years. She steps away from the cover of the doorway, tucks her similar blonde hair behind her ear, "Finn," she says again, with those same eyes.

"Aria, you okay?" I ask her, with a smile that seems a little too forced, so I let it drop. She studies me for a moment and then runs over to me and grabs me, pulling me into a hug and burying her face into my shirt. "Hey, hey," I say, holding her for a moment. I pull her away and kneel down, "Hey, it's okay. There's no need to cry, Aria." _I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4._ She looks up at me and bites her lip; it's and Odair trait for when we're trying not to cry.

"Finn, I'm worried," she tells me. So am I, I want to reply but I don't, instead I smile at her. "There's no need for you to worry one little bit. Look at me; I'm not worried at all." _I am fourteen years old._ She looks me up and down, and for one moment it looks as though she doesn't believe it. She knits her eyebrows together, "What if your name gets picked?"

"I won't get picked," I tell her in the most confident assured voice that I can muster. _And I will __**not**__ be reaped today. _Before she can ask another question, before I have to lie to her again I stand up sharply and reach out my hand. "Come on, let's go and get some breakfast," She nods and takes my hand like we did when we were kids; "I'm starving, aren't you?" I say, a small smile creeps up to her lips and she begins talking about something or other. I exhale lightly, relieved that she is preoccupied and not thinking about the Reaping. I just wish it was that easy for me.

The bread is warm in my hands, it's a rare treat- not the bread, but the bread being freshly baked and warm. I inhale the smell slowly; salt, just like District Four itself. And it's tinted a beautiful green colour because of the seaweed baked inside of it. I eat it slowly savouring every bite, savouring the salty taste on my tongue. I even lick the remaining flour left on my fingers, my Dad notices this, "They'll have bread in the Capitol, Finnick," he jokes.

"Not as good as this though," I retort. "Anyway, I'd probably be too mesmerised by all the other beautiful foods to give a damn about bread." The atmosphere in our kitchen in tense, like it always is on the morning of the Reaping. It was the same for my oldest sister, Astrid, when she was eligible for The Hunger Games, it's the same for me and it'll be the same for Aria when it's her turn. Astrid is sat across the table from me, she hasn't spoken to me since I came down but she keeps looking at me like a fish before it's about to be eaten by a shark. "Will you stop looking at me like that?" I ask her after a minute of silence. I raise my eyebrows at her, "Astrid?"

She blinks her blue eyes twice before picking up her glass of water, "I wasn't looking at you like anything."

"You were," I say "I know I'm beautiful but Astrid, really I'm okay." _And I will __**not **__be reaped today._ She's wiser than my younger sister, she knows what it feels like, she knows that I am lying and so she only nods_. I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4._

"No need to worry about him, Astrid. Odairs' are not afraid, especially our Finnick," my Dad says, gripping my shoulder. _I am fourteen years old. _He rests his hand on my shoulder and I lift mine up to squeeze his; he may be acting like he isn't bothered about my going to the Reaping or even me being chosen but like he said, Odairs' are not afraid.

"Exactly Dad, there's no need to worry about me. Any of you. Really," I try again to sound as convincing and confident as I can but I don't really have any time to worry about that. So I smile my most charming smile, "It's like a one in a million chance that my name will be chosen anyway." _And I will __**not**__ be reaped today._ The tense atmosphere evaporated a little after that. I mean a little smile and a bit of charm from Finnick Odair does wonders.

"Maybe we can go out of the boat after the Reaping, Finnick," says Astrid with a smile, "You, me, Aria and Dad?" I nod my head. As long as I'm not chosen, I almost say but it's probably not the right time. Not that I usually care about timing and people's emotions but something about Reaping day with my family just doesn't feel like the time to be making jokes.

"Finnick," my Dad says, I raise my shining sea green eyes to meet his blue ones, "We should go. The Reaping will be starting soon." I drop my eyes.

_I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District 4. I am fourteen years old. And I will __**not**__ be reaped today._


	2. We were born to die, you and I

To the arms of the ocean, deliver me

**We were born to die, you and I **

As I predicted the day was stifling hot, and I wasn't even in the square yet therefore I knew that it would be especially hot once our bodies were tightly packed together, waiting for our fate to be decided for another year. The line loomed before me, the one where you have to sign in by giving a blood sample- it's the most stupid idea, why don't they just take our fingerprints, or scan our eyes, what is the Capitols apparent obsession with taking our blood? Don't they get enough of it in their Games?

Before the Reaping began we shuffled into the square, I craned my neck to see if I could see my friends as we were herded into two separate sections in the square; boys and girls, like we're cattle about to be sent to the slaughter. _We are_, is all I can think. None of my friends seem to be here yet, so I file in with the other fourteen years olds and wait.

The square where our Reaping is held is directly in front of the mayor's house, like every other district; the two separate sections where the boy and girls stand is divided by a concrete walkway that you follow to the stage once you have been reaped. The floor where we stand has the symbol of District Four engraved on the floor. The mayor's house stands strong before me- made of thick white marble and the large front doors, closed for the moment, painted bright blue. The house has two thick columns, but today they are covered with two blue banners, with both the symbol of the Capitol and District Four branded on them, as well as the written announcement, '65th Hunger Games' at the bottom- as if there weren't enough reminders that the Capitol owns us.

A strong, firm hand grips my shoulder and the unmistakeable, strong, monotonous voice of a Peacekeeper speaks directly into my ear, "Finnick Odair? You need to come with me." My stomach immediately drops- what have I done wrong? Why does he want to speak to me? I turn around, face full of fear, expecting to come face to face with the helmeted face of one of District Four's Peacekeepers; instead I see my best friend, Sebastian Currents, with his stupid, mischievous grin planted on his face. Apparently, my reaction was utterly hilarious to him as his smile erupted into uncontrollable hysterics. I punch him playfully in the stomach, "I'm going to kill you," I tell him, with no real venom behind it.

"Hey, maybe the Games will do that for you," he jokes back. Sebastian is my best friend- we're practically inseparable and, despite not looking anything like each other, everybody always presumes that we are brothers. Yes, we share the tanned skin, athletic figure and charming smile but his eyes are blue whereas mine are sea green and his hair is so dark, almost black like the wings of a raven. "Your face though Finn, absolutely hilarious," he tried to tell my after his laughter has calmed down.

"Asshole," I retort back, which only makes him grin even further. He chuckles loudly once and then leans his body over and plants a kiss on the centre of my forehead, "Happy Hunger Games," he says to me in an eerily accurate impersonation of our escort. "And may the odds be ever in your favour," we both finish in unison with laughs bursting from our lips.

This kind of joking happens all the time throughout most of the Reaping and it should definitely be taken with a pinch of salt. The older boys scowl and roll their eyes, calling us immature as we laugh and joke; some of the younger boys turn around, too terrified to laugh or too scared to understand that it's just one of our long-running gags. Sebastian and I make jokes because it's the only thing that calms us; it's our only way to handle the situation- if we didn't, we'd be too terrified to even breathe. Also, it's helped some other people get through the Reaping, being able to laugh and ease the tension- and if it's helping people then it can hardly be a bad thing, can it?

The bright blue doors swing open wide, and the mayor of District Four and his family walk outside and take their seats on the stage. Then the Peacekeepers follow next, carrying two large circular containers that hold all of our names in them. They place the one with the boy's names in front of us on the right side of the stage and they place the girl's names on the left side. After they have been secured in place the final person out, the final piece to the puzzle, is District Four's escort straight from the Capitol. Celosia Ascella. She has definitely outdone herself this year. Mounds of bright blue curls are piled in a bouffant on the top of her head. Today she has attached various jewelled star fish, sea shells, coral reefs and colourful fishes into her hair. Her hair, already over the top, is accompanied by her dress- apparently an example of Capitol fashion. Her dress- all the tones of blue, green and purple of the ocean seemed to move and flow effortlessly like waves themselves, over her entire body. To top the entire outfit off, Celosia has wrapped a sea green fishing net all over her body- intertwining between her legs, then over her dress, covering her shoulders and finally, twisting up to a point next to her left ear.

She taps the microphone three times, the harsh, unexpected noise echoing across the square. She then light clears her throat from a blockage that was never truly there. Then the Reaping begins.

"Happy Hunger Games! Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, to the 65th annual Hunger Games," declares the falsified, high pitched voice of Celosia Ascella, the Capitols' escort for the District 4 tributes. She holds her smile a little too long for it to be natural. "Oh, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favour," She calls towards us all in the square._ I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will __**not**__ be reaped today. _Sebastian looks at me and winks.

"However, before we begin with the excitement of the Reaping," she says with another forced smile at us all, "We have a very precious message from the Capitol."

We both roll our eyes. _'War, terrible war'_ I mouth at him, with the same overused theatrics by the voice in the video; he has to cover his mouth with his hands to attempt to stifle his giggles. The video finished and all eyes turned to Celosia, who apparently thought that the entire video was utterly moving and was dabbing at her eyes to stop her tears. Once she had composed herself (and we had made sarcastic comments), she turned to the crowd- and there was that fake smile again.

"Now, the time is finally here. The moment that we have all been waiting for. It is time to select fearless young man and woman for the ultimate honour, no, privilege of representing District Four in the 65th annual Hunger Games!" Celosia excitedly flourished her arms into the air after this; she received a few cheers but mainly just stone cold silence. Her bright smile faltered a little but, like the professional she is, she quickly repaired it and carried on.

_I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will __**not **__be reaped today._

"Let's start with the Gentlemen today, I think. You do all look especially handsome today." _I am Finnick Odair, and I am from District Four. I am fourteen years old. And I will __**not**__ be reaped today._ _And I will __**not**__ be reaped today._ Slowly, she sticks her claw like fingernails into the bowl, followed by her hand- she swirls it around carefully. In this moment the atmosphere grows even tenser and silence falls. Nobody breathes, even the gulls are respectful- the only sounds are of the distant waves flowing onto the shore and the slow swirling of the cards in the bowl. _And I will __**not **__be reaped today. And I will __**not **__be reaped today._ Dramatically, she pulls a name out of the bowl and I squeeze my crossed fingers together, ever tighter. _And I will __**not**__ be reaped today. _

"And the male tribute from District 4 for the 65th annual Hunger Games is," _And I will __**not **__be reaped today. And I will __**not **__be reaped today._ Slowly, why does everything seem in slow motion today? Slowly, she unseals the tape, unfolds the card, and edges closer to the microphone. "Finnick Odair," she announces.

A moment ago I was laughing and joking and praying, the next minute my entire world has changed. They said my name, _my name._ They weren't supposed to say my name. My throat goes so dry that I can't even breathe and my heart, oh my heart is racing so ferociously that I think it may rip out of my chest. Everyone is staring at me- boys have turned around, girls are peering curiously from the other side. People are staring but not like they usually do- they stare like I've got an infectious disease and the crowd parts in the same way to let me pass through, even Sebastian. _'Move away from him,'_ I can hear their brains telling them, _'he's got the plague, he's cursed.' _ I am, I'm cursed. Sebastian doesn't look me in the eyes, even though I'm searching for a friendly smile or a comforting look, he just pats my shoulder but not long enough for it to give me any relief.

"Finnick Odair," she calls again, a little louder. I move slowly through the crowd of boys and out to the main pathway, everyone gapes at me like fish, eyes bulging and mouths wide open. Somewhere in the not so far distance, I can hear my sister screaming, crying but I have to ignore it, I can't listen, I can't cry. My feet scuff against the stone pavement as I'm escorted to the stage by four Peacekeepers. I look up to the two giant screens displaying my face and there I am, chewing my lip like a madman. I can't cry. Odairs are not afraid. But seriously, when did it get so damn hot? I lift my eyes up from the ground to see that stupid woman from the Capitol smiling at me and reaching her arm out, waggling her fingers like I'm some sort of child.

"Finnick! FINNICK! No, no, no, Finnick, no," I can hear Aria's cries, hysterical and interrupted by loud sobs, even clearer than before from my place on the podium. I permit myself one glance over to them- my family. Aria is crying, protected by my Dad's strong arms; his face is stern but I can see him chewing on his lip, I can see the pain at the inevitable loss of his only son. And Astrid, the strongest of them all, is whispering calming things to my littlest sister, holding her hand with her arm wrapped around my father, holding them all together. _It's okay_, I want to tell them, _there'll be volunteers._ _There will be someone to take my place, there has to be._ I turned my head away and look directly as Celosia, stood in front of me with that plastered on smile.

"And how old are you, darling?" she asks me, in her usually shrill voice. I am about to retort with a sarcastic comment about being old enough for the slaughter and then realise that that probably isn't the best idea at the moment._ 'Be charming, Finnick. Always.'_ I hear my Mother's voice telling me.

"Fourteen," I say, shooting her my most charming smile which flusters her a little. _I'm a better actor than she is, at least. _

"Brave," she comments vaguely. "And what beautiful eyes you have, they match my dress," she says motioning toward the fishing net wrapped round her. Strangely the smile she sends me seems more sincere this time, almost as though she is sorry for me- I won't have that, I won't be made to look weak in front of the Capitol.

"I'll have to borrow it sometime, Celosia," I reply with half-seductive wink and, again, my signature charismatic smile. I try to keep a hold on that smile, and try not to grimace as she bats her ten centimetre long blue eyelashes at me. She coughs lightly again, "And now I ask: Are there any volunteers?" Of course there will be volunteers; that's what I'm relying on.

Silence. Stone cold silence. _No. _There are always volunteers, always. I stare back at the hundreds of faces looking back at me, housing vacant expressions. I look to the back, to all the 18 year olds- the ones who are supposed to volunteer for me- they're standing there exchanging glances. _Volunteer_, I want to scream, _please, you want this, live for this. Please, I can't die! _Nobody does. I stare blankly at the audience, I cannot bear to look at my family again or I will start crying and I can't let anybody see my weakness. Why didn't anyone volunteer? Maybe everyone wanted to see handsome, over confident, irritating Finnick Odair finally get his hands dirty, or finally get his comeuppance.

I didn't hear the name of the girl who was reaped. She was twelve years old, with long honey blonde curls cascading down her back and freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks. The little girl seemed too frightened to breathe. "Any volunteers?" asked Celosia, and sure enough there was. A monster of an 18 year old girl, with dirty blonde hair and forgettable blue eyes. The girl was taller than me by far and stronger by the looks of it and she had two giant legs as thick of tree trunks.

"And what would your name be, sweetheart?" Asked Celosia with mock sweetness, piled on thick to hide her discomfort at the giant stood in front of her.

"Ondine Pierce," she replies. Pierce it rhymes with fierce, which no doubt this girl definitely will be.

"Well then, shake hands children. Be good sports won't you?" Asks Celosia; we both roll our eyes. As I came face to face with my competition a smirk grew on the corners of my mouth, and the first thing that came to mind was a sarcastic comment about trees and District 7 but realised that now probably wasn't the best moment for me to mention it, particularly when she was looking at me with ferocious eyes and a sinister smile, like I was her next kill. _Shit_, I probably was.

"I am proud to present District Four's two tributes for the 65th annual Hunger Games: Ondine Pierce and Finnick Odair!" Celosia declares, lifting our arms into the air like we are victorious. I smile charmingly to the crowd, to the Capitol's cameras- it's all a façade. My fellow tribute doesn't wave, doesn't smile, and doesn't act charming- she doesn't do anything at all. _The personality of a fish this one has, _is the only thing that I can think. _She'll have no problem getting sponsors, our Ondine Pierce. _


End file.
